Текст книги "The Singles"

Автор книги: Emily Snow

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Chapter Nine

Shortly after four thirty the next morning, I hear a key card slide into the lock to my room. I’m still so wired from the night before that I’ve yet to fall asleep. The slight clicking noise on the other side of the door makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Fully alert, I slide myself into a sitting position and grab the first weapon I can find—my boot. After what happened back at the hotel in New Orleans, no one can blame me for being on edge.

My fear quickly dissipates when Heidi creeps into the room, holding her pumps to her chest with one arm, as she eases the door gently shut behind her with the other. She turns around and starts tiptoeing across the floor, but then she freezes as I flick on the lamp between our beds.

“Well, hell, I thought you’d be tied to McCrae’s bed or something right about now.”

I toss the clunky shoe down on the floor. “Surprise, babe.”

She drops her shoes and kicks them, one by one, beneath the desk. “So, why aren’t you in McCrae’s bed?” She wrinkles her nose. “Is everything alright?”

Bringing my knees up to my chest, I circle my arms around my shins. I’ve spent the last several hours lying in the dark, my brain pinging between needing Wyatt and wondering whether or not everything will be fine with him until we return to L.A. I’ve yet to come up with a solution to either.

But to Heidi, I tip my head. “We’re good. We have to leave so early that we decided to call it a night.”

She pauses for a few seconds, like she’s about to say something earth-shattering, but then she unzips her strapless top and pulls it off. Rolling my eyes, I glance away from the pierced boobage on display until she clears her throat. When I turn my head back to her, the red silk bustier is draped over the back of the chair, and she’s stretching a tank top down her waist.

“You don’t think I’m stupid enough to believe that, right?” She loops a ponytail holder through her dark hair, which has started to frizz.

I rub my hands up and down my legs. “Not at all, but I think you’re smart enough not to make a big deal out of it.”

“Oh, I am.” She pulls off her jeans and tosses them on top of the red top before she climbs into bed. Adjusting her pillows, she looks up at me from beneath her long lashes. “And before you start making a big deal, no, Cal and I did not sleep together.”

Stretching my legs back down the sheets, I flex my feet and hold up my hands defensively. “I wasn’t even going to bring it up.”

“You were thinking it. We just went to a few more bars.” She grabs the remote from the nightstand, but before she switches on the flat screen TV, she cocks her eyebrow. “You tired?”

With thoughts of Wyatt still strumming their way through my brain? Hardly.

For an hour, Heidi and I sit in complete silence, which is a feat for us, considering we both loathe quiet situations. The only thing she finds worth watching is a rerun of Game of Thrones that she’s probably seen no less than ten times. Midway through the episode, she crawls to the bottom of her bed, lies on her stomach, and refuses to look away from the TV, acting as if she hasn’t already witnessed her favorite character’s death.

“I hate this scene,” she whispers. “I’ll never watch this show again. Never. It rips out my fucking heart.”

“You said that last year.”

After the end credits play, she turns off the TV and blinks, her head lolling forward a bit. She’s seconds away from passing out. Then, I’ll be up alone, thinking about shit that I shouldn’t, like thoughts that I would have been over by now if I didn’t accept Wyatt’s deal back in New Orleans.

Heidi returns to the top of her bed and stretches out on the pillows. Though her eyes are closed, she turns her head in my direction. “Do you think this is actually it for you and McCrae?”

“Yes,” I say too quickly. The muscles in my face stiffen, but I continue. “Maybe. At some point, we have to stop trying if it’s not going anywhere.” Wyatt and I had reached that point a long time ago, but I didn’t realize it until last year, a couple of weeks after our Thanksgiving Day hookup.

“You said that last year,” Heidi says sleepily, repeating my earlier statement.

Yes, but this year is different.

Although Heidi is probably planning on having a ten-hour sleep marathon, her chances of accomplishing that are cut short when Wyatt shows up to our room a little after nine. He leans against the door frame, his body relaxed, as if we didn’t argue last night.

I match his nonchalance and give him an easy smile that’s the complete opposite of how I’m feeling. “Morning,” I say.

He glimpses over my head and snorts when he eyes Heidi passed out on her bed, curled into a fetal position and breathing heavily. “Did you get my text?”

“Turned off my phone.”

“Avoiding me?”

I lick the corner of my lips. “Dodging drama.”

He curls his hand into the hem of my shirt and inches into the room, closing the space between us in a series of deliberate short steps. The sound of his boots dragging across the carpet is loud enough to mask the deep breaths I’m taking.

“Drama’s not all bad, beautiful.”

Shaking my head, I stare him down. “It is when I end my night wanting to murder you.”

Wyatt’s gaze lowers. His eyes are intense, unblinking, and the apology that I want from him is there, clearly visible behind the turbulent blue depths. I’m just not sure if it’s enough.

“We’re leaving in an hour.” His fingers creep beneath my tee, splaying out on the smooth skin just below my belly button.

I mirror his movements, pressing my palms on the sides of his abs. “I’ll wake Heidi up.”

As he drops his mouth a little closer to mine, his warm breath fans across my face, and I tilt up my chin. “Not yet.” His fingers trace the length of my torso, all the way up to the sensitive spot beneath my breasts, and then they move back down, cupping the wide curves of my hips. “You’re still angry.”

Why does he have to make everything so difficult? Why does he have to tear me down at every turn just to make me want him at the next? “Of course I am,” I hiss, suddenly out of breath. “You acted like a jealous idiot.”

The muscles in his neck tighten. “And you haven’t?”

I lower my chin, scowling up at him from beneath my lashes, which are still coated in the mascara I used last night. “I’ve never insulted anyone speaking to you in a bar, not even when it was anything but innocent.”

He mutters a curse, and just when I expect him to get the verbal apology out of the way so we can be on our way, he surprises me. He picks me up, and he literally hauls me over his shoulder.

“Put me down,” I warn.

Ignoring me, he moves out of the doorway and uses the toe of his boot to close the door quietly.

“Wyatt, so help me—”

“You’ll what, beautiful? Hit me? Scream?” His pierced lips drag up into a wicked grin. “You know I love it when you do both.”

Because I don’t want to give Heidi the shittiest wake-up call ever, I don’t scream at him. Instead, I rake my sorry excuse for fingernails up his back through his soft black T-shirt. When he chuckles, I can feel it vibrate through my body. “You think that’ll stop me from talking to you?”

No, because he’s probably getting a boner from it.

He doesn’t let go of me until we’re behind the bathroom door, and even then, he sits me on the beige granite countertop, locking my legs between his. I hit him in the chest, hard, but he doesn’t budge.

“You’re letting it all out now, aren’t you, babe? First, jealousy, and now this?” I demand. “You must truly want me to experience everything you’ve got to offer before we go back to L.A.”

Wyatt’s hand inches up my back, finally tangling into the tousled hair on the nape of my neck. “I was out of line last night.” When he tilts my head back a little, giving my hair a tug, a shot of pleasure pours through me, and I make a soft sound. He must take it for a sound of disgust because he drags his other hand through his hair. “I fucking overreacted, Ky. I’ve never done that.”

“No,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “You haven’t.”

“It’s getting closer—us getting back to L.A. And this is the first time I’ve ever believed you when you said you’re through.”

I panic because I don’t want to hear him talk about the end. I feel like a strong hand is clenching my heart, stopping it from beating just right. I smooth my hand up his chest to the hollow of his tattooed throat.

“Don’t do that,” I whisper. He starts to say something else, but I move my other hand into his jeans and wrap it around his cock. It’s a coward move, but I never said I was opposed to taking the easy way out sometimes. “Don’t,” I say once more, gripping him firmly.

I feel him go hard slowly beneath my touch. He slumps forward, placing his palm flat on the bathroom mirror behind me. “You’re killing me.”

Acknowledging what he’s just said with a stiff nod, I stroke my hand up and down his length, pressing my thumb to the top of his shaft.

“Open your legs,” he breathes into my ear.

My chest is rising and falling heavily, and I want him—oh god, I want him—but I press my lips together. “No.”

“I need to touch your pus—”

I slide my fingers from his neck to his lips. “No.”

His long legs go weak, and I use this opportunity to loosen their grip on my legs. I place my feet on each side of him, nudging his jeans and boxers down his hips. When I pull him closer to me by enclosing his body with my legs, he sucks in a harsh breath.

“Fuck.” His fingertips find their way back to my hair. “Your nipples are hard, and I know you’re wet. Lie all you want, Ky, but I can see that shit in your eyes. You can’t tell me you don’t want me to touch you.”

I curl my other hand around his length, and the fact that all my fingers are on his cock, stroking and squeezing, causes him to tremble.

“No, I can’t tell you that because I am wet. I do want you to touch me,” I say breathlessly. He groans, his lip piercing teasing my ear. “But now’s not the time.”

He leans back, the smile on his face a mixture of pleasure and pain, as he shakes his head. “Of course it is, beautiful. It’s always the time.”

But he respects my wishes. He doesn’t try to touch me as I guide him to an orgasm. He buries his mouth against my neck, releasing a low animalistic sound on my skin. As he starts to untangle his fingers from my hair, he backs away, but I jerk him toward me, skimming my hands over his muscular shoulders.

“Kiss me.”

His tongue parts mine, thrusting into my mouth, punishing me for not allowing him to touch me. He sucks on my bottom lip and then my tongue, but it doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s addictive. When he draws back, I’m slow to open my eyes.

He’s grinning, but the look in his eyes drops a brick into my stomach. It’s the look of bitter defeat. “We’ve made a mess,” he says.

I don’t fail to catch the double meaning. “Yeah,” I say softly, “we have.”

Chapter Ten

After Wyatt leaves my room, I decide to wait to try and wake Heidi, so I take a long shower that would deplete all the hot water back in my L.A., apartment. By the time I’m done, I’ve managed to calm my nerves, the trembling in my legs have stopped, and I’m articulate enough to understand. I can look my best friend in the eye without raising her suspicions about what Wyatt and I did a mere fifteen feet away from her while she was sleeping.

I spend a solid ten minutes trying to coax her out of bed, and Heidi doesn’t take the disturbance well. Eventually, I look up a Lady Gaga song on my phone.

Fifteen seconds into “LoveGame,” Heidi jolts up with bloodshot eyes and her hair flying everywhere. “That’s so fucked-up, Ky.”

“We’re leaving.”

She fumbles under her pillow for her phone. As soon as she checks the time, her expression goes blank. “You’re kidding.”

“You can sleep on the way there,” I promise. “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

But a few minutes later, while she’s packing her belongings, she’s still irritable and drowsy. “This is bullshit.” She grabs her outfit from last night from the back of the chair and tosses it onto the heap of clothing in her suitcase. “They’re not playing in New Mexico until when? Tomorrow night?”

I roll a pair of my jeans into a compact bundle and slide them neatly into my bag.  “Albuquerque is nearly a thousand miles away from here, babe. With traffic and stops, it’s an easy fourteen hours.” Thinking of it in hours suddenly makes my ass sore, and I grimace.

“I should probably call my parents and let them know we’ll be in Phoenix on Saturday morning, huh?”

She straddles her bag between her slim long legs, squeezes it tightly together, and tugs at the zipper. If my phone wasn’t on the other side of the room, sitting on top of the mini-fridge, I would record this.

Finally, the zipper gives, and Heidi stumbles back, glaring at it. “I hate packing.”

“What you just did was disturbing on so many levels.” I rise from my spot on the floor and check my appearance one final time in the mirror. The effect that Wyatt has on me is obvious, at least in my opinion, as I study my reflection. I’m able to look past the circles beneath my almond-shaped brown eyes to see how my cheeks are flushed and how my lips seem fuller from kissing him earlier. My hand shakes a little as I trace the outline of my mouth.

Heidi clears her throat. “And you call me disturbing.” I see her reflection in the mirror as her head cocks to one side. She shuffles closer to me, stopping just a few feet away from the dresser. “So, about visiting my parents—yay or nay?”

Because she’s studying me so carefully, I respond quickly. “You should probably go see them.” I twist away from the mirror, facing her directly. “They’d be pissed if you came to town and didn’t at least meet them for dinner.”

“Probably,” she agrees, making me wonder why she asked me in the first place. “I haven’t been home since Christmas.”

“Then, you should definitely go.”

Of course, advising Heidi that she needs to visit her parents once we reach Phoenix for the last show makes me feel like shit. Over the past two months, my mom’s been good enough not to put pressure on me about coming to Atlanta, but sooner or later, her patience will wear out.

“I’m probably going to go home next month. To Atlanta,” I say.

Heidi nods her head, a smile of approval flitting across her glossy lips. “Good. I would invite myself, but you’re probably afraid I’ll meet some loser who’ll steal your parents’ car or something.”

Rolling my eyes, I shove myself away from the dresser and bend down to zip my luggage. It closes on the first try without taking as much effort as it did her. “Stop giving yourself such a hard time.” I sling the heavy bag over my shoulder, and I start coughing when it knocks the wind out of me.

Heidi’s already waiting at the door, and once I catch my breath, I join her.

“You look thrilled,” she says in a dry voice.

“Is it wrong that I don’t want to do this today? You’d think I’ve never had to sit my ass on a tour bus for days at a time,” I mutter.

“See, told you it was too damn early for this.” She twists around to give me a sympathetic look, curling her bottom lip. “I’m going to sound like a complete tool, but it’s not too much longer until we’re home.”

I’m right on her heels as she leaves our room, but I take one final peek inside before I let the door close behind us. I’ve left too many personal belongings in hotels across the country not to be cautious.

“And once we’re back, I get to do this all over again, except I’ll be taking orders from Lucas.” My voice is sarcastically chipper.

Heidi stops in the middle of the hallway, earning a frustrated glare from the housekeeper who’s trying to maneuver an oversized cart stacked high with cleaning supplies and toilet paper. I grab my friend’s bony elbow and guide her out of the way.

As soon as we get to the staircase that leads down to the parking garage, she confronts me. “You’re not fed up with your job, are you?”

I jog down the steps, taking them two at a time, so I’m out of breath by the time I reach the bottom. “I love my job.”

Still, for the first time since I started avoiding Wyatt near the end of last year, I’m wondering how working for Lucas is going to affect me once I’m back in L.A. Isn’t the proximity and common ground the precise reasons why I let Wyatt back into my life time and time again? Even if I can go through with cutting him out this time, every moment we’re together, even the toxic ones, I know I’ll doubt myself.

When I open the door to the parking garage, Heidi stops me, flattening her hand against the metal, as she slams it shut. “Ugh, the look on your face right now.” She shakes her head, pressing her lips together, as if what she’s looking at is the most pitiful thing she’s ever seen.

Maybe, just maybe, it is.

“Heidi,” I warn. “I’m not doing this with you today.”

She ignores me. “You do realize that I can get a rental car, right? I’m perfectly capable of driving us back to L.A., so you can get away from McCrae right here and right now.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Then, I pause. Despite what Heidi has said about wanting to take this trip with me, maybe she’s ready to go home. “Do you want to go back right now?”

She takes her hand off the door and holds it open for me. “I do phone sex, Kylie. My customers aren’t going anywhere, and besides, I really do want to see my folks. But I’m offering to take you home. I don’t want to see you hurt, and now, you’ve got me all worried.”

We walk side by side through the muggy carport, and in the distance, I can hear Cal and Wyatt’s voices as they load their luggage and guitars into the back of the Suburban. I stop Heidi when we’re several feet away from the SUV, clamping my hand down on her wrist. “Don’t.” My voice is hushed and more pleading than I intend for it to be. “Don’t worry. I want to do this.”

She drags her hand through her long brown hair, exhaling. “I know you do, but for the first time since you told me what your plan is, I actually believe that you just might go through with it, that you’re done with him.”

What she’s saying is so similar to what Wyatt said this morning that I feel a cold pain spread across the inside of my chest.

“I hate when you don’t get enough sleep because you’re way too emo.”

She pushes her shoulders back. “I’m worried because you’re drawing this out, and it’s going to be hell to walk away. I’m worried because, in the end, you’ll hurt so much worse.”

She’s right. I am prolonging my time with Wyatt. I’m savoring him, feeding my addiction until the very end. It’s twisted and unhealthy, but it’s also something that I need. I drop my hand away from her arm. “Heidi, I’m good.”

Instead of arguing with me or giving me her typical “I’m right because my last name is Wright” line, she only blinks and nods. A dangerous moisture is building up at the corners of her blue eyes, and I have to look away from them.

“Let’s go to Albuquerque then,” she says.

***

After we grab breakfast at a restaurant Heidi swears she has to try because she saw it on the Food Network, we get on the interstate toward New Mexico. Cal drives this time, but instead of sitting in the back with me, Wyatt opts for the passenger seat to keep him company.

Thanks to all the pancakes she ate at breakfast and her lack of sleep, Heidi immediately passes out in the back of the SUV in a carb-induced coma. I stretch out in the second row, placing my feet against the door, and slide my earbuds in. A moment after I put The Kills playlist on shuffle, the powerful beat of “Future Starts Slow” pumps into my eardrums. Closing my eyes, I softly hum along while tapping my fingers on my thighs in time with the rhythm.

I’m not sure when I fell asleep, but the next thing I know, Wyatt’s touching my shoulder, shaking me awake. He’s standing with the door opened wide, leaning back, as his eyes skim over me.

“Cal needed a Red Bull. You want anything?”

I blink up at him a few times until my dark brown eyes adjust to the light. Groaning, I shake my head and pull my earbuds out. “I’m good. I’m just going to go back to—”

He reaches into the car for my hand, brushing against my breast in the process. It’s an innocent touch, but it’s still enough to make me shiver. “It’s a long drive, beautiful. Come out for a few minutes.”

“There’ll be another stop.” I yawn, and then I realize that I don’t hear Heidi’s soft snoring from the backseat. I sit up and see that she’s gone. If Heidi figured it was a good idea to get out of the Suburban for a break, it must mean Cal’s not planning on making another stop for several hours, so it’s probably a good idea for me to get out too. “What time is it?”

“Noon.”

Reaching around on the floor for my aviator sunglasses, I glimpse up at him and lift an eyebrow. “Cal couldn’t even last two hours without having to stop?” Wyatt’s lips quirk up, and I laugh as I scoot to the end of the bench seat. “God, maybe I should drive.”

“We’ll probably get there faster.” Holding my knees between his legs, he slides his fingers down my forearm until they find my hand. I swallow hard as he lifts my fingers to his mouth, rubbing his lip ring along my knuckles.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“Believe me, beautiful, I know. It’s been hell not climbing back there with you after the shit you started this morning.” He drops my hand and begins to help me out of the Suburban.

“How long are we stopping—” I start, but I’m unable to finish as I step around him. Instead of a convenience store, I’m facing the front door of a crappy motel room. I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms so deep that pain shoots up my wrists, as I take a hesitant step forward. When I speak, my voice is strained. “Where are Heidi and Cal?”

Wyatt comes up beside me, and I feel the lines of his body press against my side. I stiffen and turn my face away from him a little. “Where are they?” I repeat.

“At the convenience store across the street. We need to talk.” Despite my cold shoulder, he grabs my hand and leads me to the front of the Suburban. He leans against the grill, but I stand with my back straight, glaring at the door to the motel room as if it’ll fly open at any second and slap me across my face.

In a way, it already has.

“Why would we stop here?” I demand. “Why would you want to talk here?”

“You remember this place?”

How the hell could I forget? This is the same motel where we first made love. It’s the place where he found me after my four-month marriage to Brad came to an end. While I was asleep, our trip had taken a detour, and now, we’re in Livingston.

“Do you remember?” he asks again.

I nod slowly, and each tiny movement of my head makes me feel like I’m going under. “I stayed in that room down there the first time.” I point my finger to the left toward the room at the end of the row of identical doors. “And in this one the last time.” I incline my head to the door in front of us, room number 32. It’s sad that I still remember both rooms. “You play so fucking dirty.”

“I told you I was going to remind you why you fell, Kylie.”

My breath hitches. “By bringing me back here? Do you think it was worth adding extra time to your trip?”

“I have so much to say to you. It seemed like this would be the best place to do it.”

“We’ve already said enough here.”

He’s quiet, and I know he’s thinking about the room at the end of the row. He’s thinking about how I told him everything about myself, how I showed him each tiny scar, five of them in all, and how I tried my best to explain why I did it. That same night, he told me how he aspired to be a better man than his father, a womanizing drunk who hadn’t made it as a guitarist, who flaunted women in front of Wyatt’s mother until she took off.

“I didn’t even mind him beating the shit out of me,” Wyatt says, pulling me closer to him in the hotel bed. He inhales my scent, Ralph Lauren’s Romance.

He’s quiet after that, and the only sound in the room is Chevelle’s “The Red.” He waits until the song is finished, and then he says, “But the way she left without even giving me a second thought...it still fucks me up, Kylie. She didn’t give a shit about me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Tears are forming in my eyes because I feel selfish. I feel like the most selfish bitch in the world for complaining to him earlier about not meeting anyone’s expectations and retaliating by punishing myself. I cried about disappointing my parents when his had let him down too many times.

He pulls away from me, cupping my chin. “Don’t be sorry, beautiful. I’ve got you, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you do.”

His chest rises heavily, and he makes a noise that sounds nothing like Wyatt McCrae. This is the first time in all the years I’ve known him that I’ve seen him nervous, and it sends a wave of anxiety through me. I pull the sheets up to my chin. “Is everything okay?” I ask hesitantly.

He snorts. “Yeah and fuck no. Lucas will fucking kill me for going here with you.” I start to respond, but he shakes his head. “It’ll be alright.”

“Alright,” I whisper despite the pain in my throat. Wyatt’s right about Lucas, and it’s impossible for me not to dart my gaze at the door as if my brother will barge in at any moment.

“Relax,” Wyatt orders. He brings my hand up to his lips and turns it slightly to kiss my wrist. “I meant what I said in the car, Kylie. Don’t ever hurt yourself again. You want to get rid of the pressure? You take it out on me. Hit me, scratch me, do whatever the fuck you want, but don’t do that shit to yourself again.”

“Alright, then don’t lie to me,” I counter, staring at him hard.

If he were honest about his home life before tonight, I wouldn’t ask. Instead, he lied to me and to Lucas for years. He led us to believe that his relationship with his father was perfect, instead of a heartbreaking tangle of deteriorating knots. The man lying next to me has felt abandoned and beaten and unwanted. I refuse to let him feel any of those emotions again, especially after tonight.

“Then you’ve got to tell me the truth, too, beautiful.” 

I nod. “No matter what we are after this tour ends, don’t ever treat me like I’m fragile.”

He nods. “I won’t,” he says. Before he closes the space between our mouths, he adds, “But I’ve never thought for one moment that you’re fragile, Ky.”

Eight years later and judging by the strained, distant look on his face, he’s thinking about all that. When his nostrils flare and his gaze darts to the door directly in front of us, my mind goes to our second time at this motel—when we talked about Brenna in room number 37.

“Fuck, I’ve taken you for granted, Ky,” he whispers harshly.

I stare down at a crack in the asphalt. “Yeah, you have.”

He reaches out to me, and maybe it’s the effect of being back at this hotel, but I step toward him, closing my eyes when his rough fingertips knead into the nape of my neck. “This is the last time I’ll try to remind you, Ky...if that’s what you want.” His forehead touches mine. “But, God, I had to show you.”

“Show me what?”

“That when I think about the happiest times of my life, I think of this shithole right here.”

Me, too. I dip my head, too afraid to try to manage words right now.

“I want you with me the rest of this trip. Sleeping in my bed. Waking up next to me. My girl, just this last time.”

Like the memories of our past, I can almost clearly see our future—a future where we’re not together, where other people will give us exactly what we’ve been looking for with each other.

And I loathe it.

I loathe it so goddamn much that I speak without thinking.

“I’ll stay with you until we get back to L.A.,” I whisper.

He lowers his lips to my temple, blowing strands of blue-and-black away from my face. “And if I’m what you want by the time we get back, if we can finally fix ourselves, what the fuck then?”

I can hear Cal and Heidi coming across the parking lot, arguing loudly about the original lead guitarist of some band, and I swallow hard. “I...I don’t know.” Once again, the words tumble out before I have an opportunity to consider them, and his face cracks into a smile.

Damn it.

He backs away, slow to take his hands away from me. “It’s not what I wanted to hear, Ky,” he says just before Heidi and Cal come within earshot. “But that’s so much fucking better than hearing never.”